


hold on and let go

by siehn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, S03e07 Currents, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold on and let go

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started in response to some stuff I saw about Derek, and deserving what happened and not deserving comfort, or something. 
> 
> Then it turned into this, and I'm blaming the entire thing on hobohairedbuckybear, i.e Victoria because she enables me in all things. <3333
> 
> Uhm. More hurt than comfort, and I'm pretty convinced it's terrible, actually.

He’s still shaking when he comes back to himself; still kneeling in the water, bloody and trembling beneath Stiles’ hand with another name to add to the list of people dead because of him. It’s almost hard to take a breath, comes out half-gasping because life is starting up again, too fast and loud and he can feel stolen power strumming through his bones even as grief wells up and rages inside, the howl of his wolf counterpoint to everything else in his head. 

“Breathe, Derek,” Stiles tells him, filling up his line of sight; his hand is still on Derek’s shoulder like it belongs there, like Stiles isn’t afraid to touch him. He should be; Derek just killed one of his classmates, but Stiles has never known when to be afraid, and somewhere along the way he got comfortable and Derek desperately needs something to hold onto right now. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, doesn’t know who he’s talking to out of all the scents in the room, or what specifically he’s apologizing for, but he reaches up to wrap his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and holds on. “I never meant for this to happen.” 

He was never supposed to be an alpha. 

Then again, his family was never supposed to burn to death in their house, Laura was never supposed to be murdered by their uncle, and Derek was never supposed to turn three teenagers and expect them to live through this. He doesn’t know what to do, other than stay there in the water and hope it’s all a nightmare that he’ll wake up from soon. Except it isn’t; the world isn’t that kind. 

“I know,” Stiles says, sad and resigned in that way he sometimes gets, but he doesn’t say ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ Derek’s grateful for that; he doesn’t think he could handle hearing those words. He doesn’t want to hear anything right now, focuses instead on the heartbeats in the room, steady and alive and at least he didn’t fuck everything up yet. Isaac’s still alive, Jennifer’s safe, and Cora was kept out of it; he’s learned to be thankful for small, bitter favors. 

“They were just kids,” he says, looks up to catch Stiles’ gaze and shakes his head. “You’re all just kids.” He should have stayed away from Beacon Hills; maybe then none of them would be dead, or hurting, the way everything that touches him does. 

“C’mon, man,” Stiles tugs him up and Derek allows it, though he thinks he should just sit there until someone comes and finds them, locks him away for all the things he’s done to these kids. “We’d still be in it even without you,” he says firmly, and Derek listens for the lie he doesn’t hear. “You didn’t bite Scott, and that’s how all this started, so if you’re gonna blame anyone, blame Peter.” 

Stiles blames Peter for a lot of things, Derek knows. 

“Derek?” 

He winces, doesn’t want to look up at Jennifer because she just saw a teenager die on his claws, one of her students and he’s never quite felt like a monster until now. He looks up anyway, because he owes her this at least, and isn’t surprised to find Lydia standing at her side, Isaac over helping Cora with Boyd. He swallows hard, looks down at his hands once before deciding the warmth of Stiles at his side is safer to focus on. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, because he wasn’t lying when he told her everyone around him gets hurt. “I shouldn’t have—“ 

She shuts him off by stepping close, a trembling finger settling just over his lips as she shakes her head. “Don’t,” she tells him softly. He breathes in her scent, lets it wash over him the way it did that night, before the fear sours it and they both look away. “If you need somewhere to stay,” she offers, and he knows she would, that she’d let him in and give him a space right up until Kali came and impaled her on his claws, too. 

He shakes his head. 

“I’ll make sure he’s somewhere…Not here,” Stiles says then, something like reassurance in his voice and Derek wants to argue, wants to give all the same reasons he would have to Jennifer, but Stiles just shakes his head and nudges Derek with his shoulder. “Shut up, Derek; I think I know the risks by now. Lydia, can you?” 

“Of course. Keys?” Derek tunes out the ensuing argument in favor of turning to watch Cora and Isaac drag Boyd out of the water, his breath stuttering again at the lifelessness in his pack-mate. It’s all so fucked up now, so much worse than he thought it could get, back when he was offering them the bite and telling them how much of a gift it was. He laughs darkly, doesn’t care that they’re staring because they were right. 

The power is there, all the potential to be heady and addictive and so easy to just reach out and take. Except Boyd is dead, and Derek killed him; Erica is gone, and her bright curiosity with her, and it’s all falling apart. 

“Derek? Derek, I need you to breathe with me. C’mon,” Stiles’ voice is cajoling, loud in the sudden silence and it takes longer than it should for Derek to realize he can’t breathe. Except Stiles’ hand is on his chest, and he’s breathing slow and even and Derek lets himself match him breath for breath until the red fades from his eyes and Stiles stops looking so wild-eyed. 

“There you are,” Stiles says, relief and exhaustion dripping from the words. “Lydia took your car; we’re going in the Jeep.” He lets himself be pulled out of the loft, lets Stiles lead him down to the Jeep before he stops, and looks around for the rest of his pack. 

“Where are they?” He should know, should stay with them because he doesn’t trust Kali not to finish off the rest of them. He can’t let them die, can’t lose his sister for the second time because of his own fuck-ups; Derek is tired of losing everything he builds for himself. 

“They went to bury Boyd,” Stiles tells him carefully, like Derek is a skittish animal that might run at any second. It’s close enough to the truth to make him uncomfortable. “Isaac said they’re gonna put him by Erica.” 

It’s a good choice, and what he would have wanted. 

“Good,” Derek says quietly, gets his feet moving towards the jeep again even though his eyes drift upwards. They should both be somewhere they can feel the moonlight; out of the three of them, Boyd and Erica loved being wolves the most. 

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says once they pull into his driveway, and Derek blinks at the sight of the Sheriff’s cruiser in the driveway. 

“Yeah?” He says instead of asking about it; he doesn’t have the energy to care right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles offers into the space between them, and Derek doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know what to do with Stiles half the time, human and fragile and probably stronger than all of them. 

“Me too,” he agrees in place of anything else, ignores the grief howling in his head because giving in isn’t an option. He still has a pack, somewhere, and the Alphas will be coming, and Derek can’t afford to give in to weakness all the way. He still lets himself be pulled into the house because arguing with Stiles takes more energy than he has right now, with the memory of Boyd and Erica heavy against him. 

The house smells like familiarity anyway, and Scott’s there to help Stiles pull Derek up the stairs while the Sheriff watches and says nothing, and Derek doesn’t bother trying to interpret the look on his face. It doesn’t matter anyway; nothing matters in the end because everything burns and Derek falls headfirst into darkness because it’s easier than facing anything else, two steady, familiar heartbeats following him down. 

\---------------

“It does make us stronger,” he tells them later, the lunar eclipse overhead and the wolf stirring in his bones. They’re both gone, buried under the moonlight and at peace, but he thinks they should know how it feels, how it’s ten-times the feeling of a full moon; the way they can feel each other, can feel the _pack_ , all of them together. 

Scott stands strong beside him, his eyes bright red to match Derek’s own, and Stiles is at his other shoulder, bright and steady with the pack ranged behind them. A month of peace, to grieve and plan and refuse to give up, and the moon is heavy and full behind the cover of the earth’s shadow tonight; it’s a night for wolves and the humans that run with them, and Derek closes his eyes to take a steadying breath, remembers Boyd’s words in the center of him. 

_It’s okay, Derek._

He exhales, feels Scott and Stiles and the rest of them, ready and willing to stand beside him against the Alphas coming for their blood. 

Derek throws his head back and howls, feels more than hears Scott join in, then the rest of the pack; a challenge and a goodbye to their fallen pack-mates. 

Everything turns to ash in the end; everything burns. 

Even Alphas.


End file.
